Down The Rabbit Hole
by sweetsnow73
Summary: A request on the kink meme. An exploration into the inner minds of a few nations, what has Alfred gotten himself into now? Nations visited: Canada, Iceland, Belarus, Russia. (hints of CanNeth, IceLiech)
1. Chapter 1

The preliminary experiments were done only between humans. They would sleep in the same room with wires connected to their skulls and the whole night is monitored. The explorer's fingers would twitch but for all the adventures that they were experiencing- it was minimal movement. The universal unconscious is the shared mind space of all living sentient beings and finally Alfred's scientists had been able to find a way into it. While the possibilities for using the technology were limited, and few of any good purposes. Information retrieval, destruction of cognitive abilities…the abuse was fruitful.

So far the universal constants were:

A defensive entity could be one or many, usually holding symbolism for the owner of the brain. Would attempt to eliminate the intruder.

Memories were stored in various means, but they would be abundant.

Bodies of water held emotions. Negative mostly. The most vivid for the majority of people.

Landscape and environment would vary.

The Ideal Self: The perfect image of the mind's owner, idealized by them. A true self, formed of desire but also natural instincts.

Dreams would be above the mind-scape. A movie or flashes of images. Usually mean nothing to the traveller.

Memories could be experienced, as real as one's own memories, if the stored device was activated.

Nation minds are incompatible with human minds. Cross travel impossible with current technology.

The basics of the mindscape seems to be an ideal environment, a place the mind owner either experienced in early youth and refined or the place they want to be most.

How this would all play out for the personifications was unknown. Alfred was more than willing to be the guinea pig. It was the adventure of a life time, in the final frontier.

…

They had gotten it down to a science, as much as they could. The human psyche was so ill fitted to be a science yet rip for it.

Instead of looking at the reports of his incredible debt he was fiddling with the remote. Simple enough much like the device for a television. There was a currently blank screen at the top, a dial, numbered buttons and some control buttons (stop, next, previous).

He needs to find someone to act as his first host mind; once more minds entered the primordial unconsciousness he could pick and choose from the minds as he wanted. Skipping around with a flick of a button. If he picked someone too far away from his time zone he'd end up waiting all night to get in.

He could have his pick of any of the nations around him really, the meeting he was in the middle of wasn't a full world meeting but still fairly large. He looks around him. People talking together, people avoiding each other, people avoiding themselves by diving into work even during the break (mostly Germany on that last one). He spots his brother. Matthew.

The blond is sitting at his table, with the miniature polar bear sleeping at his feet. For all that they had shared throughout the years there were corners inaccessible. In truth, any of the nations he visited on his journey would have parts reviled that he probably wouldn't see. A type of intimacy that he isn't sure what will be like.

He could always back away right now, or half way through. But

But,

Always a _but,_ the unknown.

Something that he wants or even needs to know.

He turns the dial. There is a click and a slight hum as he waits the required few seconds.

He levels the remote at his brother's head.

If he's caught he's not sure what lie his brain will come up with, it's almost enough to get him to get caught. To know what that lie would be.

A near silent click and his brother lets out a hiss and rubs his head.

Now all he had to do was wait.

…

He thinks he has it all timed out well enough. He would go to sleep first. Shouldn't be too long before the remote would register his tag.

Another aspect of this great adventure: his own mind.

He's not sure what to expect.

It was like Christmas if Santa delivered a portal into his own mind under his tree.

Which is what he first notices when he opens his eyes in his mind.

Lots and lots of trees. It's familiar. Dangerous but only vaguely so, not in any actual danger but an instinct tells him it should be. Just like the forests of his youth. The light is dark, as if the sun is in the middle of setting, looking up though he can only see his dream. The consolidation of thoughts, memories, on some level his brain is working- in the space between awake and dead.

And there was so much of it!

Trees and junk.

Car parts, plane parts, a gear shaft here, an old ice box there. He kicks this and rolls his eyes at that.

Old egg beaters, oven handles, brooms, empty picture frames hanging from twine in the tree branches.

He finally just touches something, originally wondering if the broken shift rod felt the same but instead was vividly remembering the first time he dragged race along a piece of abandoned highway circa 1953.

The taste of dust and the sound of the teenagers yelling around him.

As vibrant as the day it happened. He throws the metal away with all his strength. Possibly forever embedding the metal in a tree somewhere but he can't stop and think about that possibility at all. He needs to keep moving.

If he were pressed to describe the sky, in truth is was a dream and a sky mixed, so that the clouds were tainted the colors of the dream and yet the land around him never brightened nor darkened with the dream.

The land was permanently casted in the odd night fall shades.

In his wondering he finally comes upon a large lake. He can see the other shore line, so not horribly too big. Looking down inside he sees the wreckage of boats. He yearns to touch the metal that was laid to rest here but he can gather a million memories that belong at the bottom of a lake and doesn't want to relive them.

He's made some self-reflective progress. He's sure to talk to his therapist about the symbolism of the metal debris and how it represents his memories. But on to more important things.

So where were his mind guardians or guardian? And his ideal self.

As he's about to push onward he hears a small bell. In the pocket of his jacket he finds the remote. Perfect.

There is a dot, blinking on the screen. As more people go to sleep, he'll be able to choose from the dots but for now he presses the button and

…

Feels like lying down and never getting up. The trip to the mindscape is horrible on the stomach.

The perceived stomach of his adventuring body anyway. He lands in piles of dried pine needles.

His mindscape didn't smell much like anything, dry summer maybe but Matthew's mind smelled like a vibrant autumn day. Zesty, very much in your face. Here too was a dense forest. Looking up he sees storm clouds, faintly through them he sees a dream. He can't make it out but it looks like water, like drowning. He should know, he's drowned a few times. Some by accident and some on purpose.

It's dim here too. Not as dark as his own mind but not a clear day.

It seems lighter further into the forest and he's here to explore so he gets to exploring.

Lanterns are hanging from all the trees; good guess is that these held memories.

As tempting as it would be to touch everything he resists the urge.

The lanterns come in a variety of colors. He guesses that the color has some sort of correlation to what kind of memory they represent.

He starts to hear waves crashing. He can't see where it's coming from yet but he hears it. He also hears the low thudding of slow walking.

Four foot patterned stepping. Heavy.

In Alfred's life, he's done a number of things based on assuming, guessing and reacting accordingly. Call it instinct or intuition but it has worked out well for him thus far. His instinct was telling him that the steps were not good news for him and it knew he was here.

He picks up his pace, wanting to take in as much as possible. It wouldn't be fun for his adventure to be ended with his travelling self being brutally murdered.

He finds a dilapidated fence, the paint worn off and the taste of salt spray in his mouth. It's simple enough to jump over it and he walks to the edge. He's on a cliff. Below him are crashing violent waves and jagged rocks. The light is stronger here, looking around he can see a bright spot in the sky, and the dream very faint and the sun light strong. It's a halo effect on the small sea side cottage.

Hand crafted, patch work, but strong against the winds. And tulips. A rainbow of tulips around it. Outside in-between flower beds and stray flowers are fishing equipment. Old fashioned kind.

He's about half way to the cottage when he feels eyes watching him. Turning to the source he has to stifle a scream.

He's seen moose.

He's seen birds of prey.

This thing was both.

Part feathers, part moose.

Large, hooved, beaked mouth and antlers. The eyes seem to be empty yet angry.

So very angry.

And unable to approach. The beast runs back and forth in front of the old fence.

As stroke of luck.

He enters the cottage. It's a simple type of cottage. A continuous space, kitchen, dining, living and then sleeping. Above the table is a vibrant wreath of tulips. In the kitchen sink is a single set of dishes and on the table one glass.

It seems to be set up for one.

And yet, in here Alfred feels surrounded.

He touches the plate and glass, runs a hand along the counter and looks at the spectacular view, as the wall facing the cliff and the water is all windows.

Open, yet what it opens to is dangerous. He looks at the living room, an old plaid couch, a hockey stick mounted over the fire place. The bed room is barely decorated, faded paintings hand on the wall. The window in here looks out to the woods. And he has to stop himself from shuddering as he sees the beast is still patrolling.

Returning to the front part of the cottage he sits at the table. Matthew's mind was lovely and brutal…

But the frickin' tulips.

He expected poppies not tulips. They looked like nothing special. He reaches out to them trying to be gentle, he promises, when he's thrust into the middle of a memory.

_It's different when it's someone else's memory. His hands but not his hands. _

"_Ehy, Matt!" He hears a gruff voice. It's loud but it makes him feel…happy? It's hard to place, his body but not his body. The view turns and suddenly is filled with tulips. "Thanks, again." The scent of tulips fills his mind. _

_The next memory is of Matthew's reflection in a mirror. In his hands is a letter, in Dutch, Matthews' fingers rub over the writing. Over and over, and his voice is saying "I love you". _

_There isn't a pause between them, the memories keep coming. _

_Lying on a couch, his face is half squished into someone's shoulder. A joint is passed and someone gets hit in the face with a bird on the television. Everything is funny and Matthew's laugh is joined with another. It sounds unused to laughing but in his mind is the appreciation for hearing his laugh. _

_Bare arms and needy hands, the room is dark and-_

That's when the memory is cut off.

Because Ideal-Matthew came home and found his real world brother touching his wreath of love tulips (he makes a note to remember that for later) and got mad. So mad that he pulled his hair and looks like he was about to slam his face into the table.

Ideal-Matthew doesn't have glasses and given the amount of time, Alfred is sure he could find a million tiny things that made this Matthew different then his real life brother but now was not the time to ponder such things because Ideal-Matthew was not a pacifist and he was about to take a hockey stick to his face. Perfect timing as always a bell went off and without looking Alfred sticks a hand in his pocket and clicks all the buttons until he's gone.

* * *

Originally a request on the Hetalia kink meme here : hetalia-kink . livejournal 13125 . html?thread=30564421#t30564421

I must admit I haven't seen or played Psyconauts but I went with a type of Inception feel mixed with a scatter of other things I've seen done before. This is also my second attempt at writing this as I had to send in my computer to have the hard drive replaced and I hadn't saved the original draft in my documents (thinking at the time if I put it on my desktop I would see it and work on it. That didn't work as it wasn't put on my new hard drive.)

Over all I tried to touch on some of the pairings that OP wanted while keeping it interesting. Hell of a lot of headcanons in this and hell of a fun time which is probably why even though my original work was gone I wanted to do it again.

I didn't talk about the guardians of Alfred's mind but I had originally planned them on being some sort of forest creatures. Plural. Maybe a mixture of a squirrel and raccoon or something. Matthew's moose isn't based on any native Canadian mythologies. At least not to my knowledge. I kind of scrimped on the research in that part.

Ideal-Matthew is a man of action, rather than the real Matthews nature of thoughtful reflection before action. And I'd love to live in the cottage. I ended up not including a memory that was in the original draft but it was just of a friendship with Ukraine and it was really cute but I forgot how I wrote it. Alas things just happen like that.


	2. Chapter 2

The same nausea, he settles down for a bit, appreciating the aesthetic appeal of grass.

Its lighter here then Matthew's mindscape. But looks like it's going to rain.

Looking up from his huddled spot on the ground is a dream but it's too generic for him to obtain the identity of his new host.

He takes out the remote and fiddles with a few buttons until the display reads out dots. Europe is asleep, or about to be asleep.

He rubs his face, the remote on his lap. So far this was every bit the adventure he had been promised. He tries not to smile but it's so hard.

Thrills! Chills! Battles to the death! With his family even!

Everything a hero could want and more.

He takes a deep breath and looks around. Tall grass, the land is flat and lacks trees. Small, tiny houses litter the landscape. Pocketing the remote he walks around. Plenty of dots to skip around to if the heat gets too much, proverbially speaking.

The houses barely come up to his knees and some have little chimneys with smoke coming out of them. But there are no doors or windows. The roofs are covered in moss and would blend into the landscape if one was taller or on a ridge of some kind looking down. For what this landscape lacks in trees it has in rocks and more rocks.

To the North: Rocks and the sound of water breaking.

To the East and West: Rocks

South: Where he came from.

Well this was boring.

He tries not to pout. His brother spoiled him a little.

No adventure here. But he can't just leave without knowing who this is.

Simply will not do.

The only thing in abundance is grass but since he's been travelling through it without as much as a flash of light that can't be it. So he slaps a house. Pay dirt.

He touches the house making prolonged contact.

_He's so cold, why was it so cold. Someone fetch him a snuggie. _

_This must be an infant nation memory because his arms are so chubby and tiny. Oh cool, he's a baby nation! Which one. The view moves around, he's on a boat. He can hear the creaking sounds of a boat in motion. Boots, they walk by,_

_Hey wait a second I SAID I WAS COLD_

_DON'T MAKE ME MAD YOU WON'T…notice if I'm mad. Damn it. _

_Well, I'm with the kid, just keep crying kid. Maybe someone will…_

_Hey there we go. _

_Warm hands on his face. _

_It's Norway; well…he thinks so..._

_Jesus was that a beard? _

_The hairier version of the personification of Norway is holding him, smiling._

The memory ends.

That narrows it down a lot. Not many people it could be then.

Looking around there isn't much, while it would be fun to run around in Iceland's head for a few hours it wouldn't be much to look at.

He's about to press the button when he feels the breath on his neck. He looks behind him.

Nothing.

At least that he can see.

However he can hear breathing, near him. On his neck.

He makes to brush it off, and feels fur.

And then giggling.

He's seen enough horror movies to know where this is going.

So he runs.

Like the heroines of horror movies, logic escapes him. Instead of skipping to the next mind he runs. Jumping the small houses and looking around.

A tall pile of rocks is ahead. Something is growing on top of it but he'll worry about that in a second.

Sprinting he reaches the top of it.

Looking around the base while trying to catch his breath there are things pushing the tall grass aside. The things are clearly physical enough to do things.

The rocks are moss and grass covered. Like everything else around here. The unique thing is a small cherry blossom tree, like one of Kiku's small bonsai trees. What truly makes this tree unique is that it's pulsating pink.

Well, he was nothing if not curious. He touches the tree bark.

_It's so boring here; he's looking outside the window. It's somewhere mountainous. If he threw himself out of the window would it count as an international incident? _

_Switzerland tries to attack Iceland, Iceland throws self out window. The look on his brothers' faces would be hilarious, well…Denmark and Finland's. Until Denmark started to talk about something so asinine that-_

_Here he comes, he's looking at the door way, Norway, now looking more like Alfred is used to, is talking to Switzerland. _

_Grumpy faces all around, he'll fit right in. _

_That is until a dainty hand is held out in front of him. With short nails painted a pale peach. He can tell they're the hands of someone who doesn't regularly farm. Making him momentarily ashamed of his own cut up hands. _

"_I'm not sure we've properly met before, I'm the Principality of Liechtenstein." _

_Her eyes look like ocean water. _

_Which makes him laugh. She's doubly land locked. _

_She's confused but still smiling. _

_The next memory is cold, almost like the baby memory but he can tell that this time Iceland is wearing cloths. Liechtenstein is there nearer to the cliffs, looking down. _

"_There's so many!" _

_They can't get too close, but she wanted to see them, the puffins, just for a quick second. _

"_Come! Before they realize they are being watched!" _

_Alfred isn't sure he's ever heard Iceland yell before. Liechtenstein, bundled up and red faced from the cold comes to him, his heart speeds up. _

_The next one is laced with frustration. _

_He's staring at necklaces. _

_The shop helper is waiting patiently for him to pick. _

_He knows he won't be happy with anything he picks so why can't he __**just pick one.**_

"_This one." He says. He wants nothing more than to know she'll like it. _

_But the next memory isn't of him giving her the necklace as Alfred expects it's of a dark room, raining outside, thunder. _

_A small prayer to a God Alfred doesn't know and a sharp pain in his foot as he stumbles over a box on the floor. _

_Some cursing. _

_Some shame. _

_The box was for her birthday but he never got the courage to send it to her. Mr. Puffin probably put it there. _

_The next memory is of how her lips taste like strawberries. _

That is the point at which Alfred withdraws his hand.

His senses slowly return to the sound of laughter all around him.

It was officially too creepy to handle and he's gone.

* * *

The invisible creatures that guard Iceland's mind are a mixture of hidden-folk and cats. I almost forgot the Norway memory in this re-write! Can't have that. Bearded Viking Norway, totally recommend for any story 10/10.


	3. Chapter 3

The light in this mindscape is much darker, yet has the same sort of 'about to rain' feeling that Iceland's had. It's not a dense forest, but thick. He would have had a graceful landing expect the mushy ground wouldn't hold his weight, skirting the marshes he finds dry land and takes the moment to gather himself. He hardly notices the nausea, it becomes easier and easier to handle.

The remote screen shows many dots now. He could go all night. He checks the time. His body won't wake up without him but he doesn't want to keep the researchers waiting. There was already so much to report already. The forest looks old, moist and vines and growth drip from the tree branches.

It wasn't a very cheerful mindscape. He shouldn't judge but it was really depressing in this place.

He wanders, watching his step.

The only thing he can really see are trees and water pits. He had almost sunk into one of them but even so, his feet were only barely wet. Going on a hunch he kneels down and slams a hand into the water.

_It's cold, but his shoulders shrug and he can tell there are layers on him. His face is numb. He's looking out over a forest. Irritated about something or someone. _

_A voice shouts out. Turning, he sees Lithuania. The clothing would place this memory a long long time ago. _

"_What?" He's got a woman's voice, so it's one of the female nations then. Short and curt, she's annoyed and focusing this irritation at Lithuania. _

_Lithuania looks like he wants to say something but thinks better of it. Toris shakes his head and holds out a rolled parchment. Her hands unroll it but before Alfred can try to read it there is a screech from the woman. _

The memory ends, it must have been bad news.

He has a good idea of whose mind he's in, he lets out a deep sigh.

He keeps walking and wonders which pit has her memories of him; he keeps an eye out for the guardian but sees nothing. Eventually the landscape changes, it's leading him some place. Soon enough the beach can be seen, the waves crash gently. There is a woman sitting on the beach, probably with her feet in the sand.

He approaches, but tries to look casual and nonchalant. Looking up, the dream is almost unviewable through the clouds, so thick and angry they are.

The ideal-Belarus is an other worldly creature. Her hair is blowing in the wind; it's shockingly white in the light of her domain. He sits next to her. Her bare feet were in the sand, like he expected. Arms crossed over her knees and she doesn't spare a glance his way. He should maybe feel insulted but he instead looks at the water.

Its sad here, looking out at the water, but less sad than her memories. Belarus had a way of looking back on things that made them seem sadder than they were in reality.

"Nice view you got here."

The ideal-Belarus turns her head to him. The real Belarus had intense eyes, but in this place her eyes had taken on a depth that was inhuman. They were a void, ready to suck him in, yet bright, shimmery, like nebula.

"It is well enough."

The real Belarus wasn't much for talking either.

"So…"

She sighs.

"What are you doing here?" she squints at him. More curious than angry.

"I was in the neighborhood thought I'd drop in, say hey," he holds up a hand and makes a wave, "hey."

She shakes her head. He likes to think he was amusing her. She's the first friendly mind he's landed in. The weather had a way of growing on him, as dark as it was.

"So…do you got a house or somethin'?" Straight to the point, technically speaking Iceland had thousands of houses, even if they were his memories, and Matthew had that cottage. But he hasn't seen a sign of a dwelling anywhere.

"She," the ideal-Belarus looks up, "does not like herself enough to house me."

Said so matter of factly it makes him pause, he looks up and still can't see the dream clearly. A lot of turmoil inside Belarus still. The woman that Belarus wants to be has no home. Not yet. This makes him horribly sad.

"Geeze louise. You gotta set her…you…down and talk about that."

Ideal-Belarus doesn't look at him; her face turned the other way.

"Any other advice from the perfect Alfred?"

"Hey don't be like that. I just want you to have a place is all."

A sound, like a snort.

"At least give you a blanket…or a Snuggie. Everyone needs a Snuggie."

That time there was the faint sound of a laugh being forced to come out as a sigh.

"You know, maybe it's the way the moon hits the bog or the sound of the waves of despair hitting the beach but I'm really grateful that we can do this."

"Do what?"

"Talk like ex-lovers, even though we've never been lovers."

She gives him a funny look; it's identical to the look she gives him from time to time when they talk at meetings. Like she gave him during the brief time she stayed at his house.

They can afford this odd space between them, here in the mindscape. In real life it was still too hard, too risqué to talk to each other for long but they had some rhythm to them that was nice and he had missed it.

"Thanks for not trying to kill me by the way."

"If I wanted you dead you would have been." She shrugs.

They sit there on the beach for a long time. Or maybe a short time. It was hard to tell and he couldn't figure out what it felt like.

"You should go."

"I should?" He looks over to her.

She's looking out at the angry waves.

"Alright. Hey, nice talking to you champ."

He knew enough to leave her alone when she asked for the space.

…

The next mind he lands in is already inside someone's house. Well it used to be a house. It was rotting and over grown with nature. The plant life was taking over the frame and rain dribbles through the holes in the roof.

An old piano without any strings stands in the room he walks through towards the empty frame of where a door should be.

Outside it's raining and he looks around trying to find clues, who did he land in?

There is furniture outside on the lawn, empty picture frames hang from trees and lay around on the ground. No pictures in them though.

He moves along, time is weird; he was definitely going to go home after this. In fact as oddly decayed the human parts of this place was nothing was particularly striking him as worth exploring.

"Boring…" which was better than being chased. Maybe the whole thrill was leaving him…

Then he spotted yellow.

Bright yellow through the forest, which was horribly dark. When the trees let up, and thinned out he was staring at a huge field of sunflowers. Here the sun was shining and the sky a perfect blue. Looking at the sky it seemed as if the storm was only over the forest and the strange house.

It didn't take him long to find the tent of sunflowers.

A circular tee pee type of structure, the sunflowers tied together at the top with a ribbon. He bends down to look inside. A bed of types. Whoever lives in here is small, books and pictures of different sunny places are on the ground.

He picks up a book, it's in Cyrillic. Putting two and two together to make four, Alfred sighs and puts Ivan's book back.

It was then he heard the echoing caw of something. He slides out of the tent like structure and looks up.

The giant two headed eagle was not happy to see him and he knew better than to stick around, finally pressing the neglected HOME button.

It was peculiar to be in his own body again. Waking up slowly, feeling weighed down.

He sighs, and then laughs.

It was a crazy ride. He tries to gather his thoughts as he stretches. His body is rested but his mind isn't. He shouldn't have gone for as long as he did, maybe he could take a nap.

On the side table is his cell phone. It showed 3 missed calls and a few text messages.

Uh-Oh.

The calls were from his brother, and one of the texts.

'I have a feeling I should be mad at you, call me bro!'

Unexpectedly however, was one from Belarus. He didn't even know she could text as the woman had always been old fashioned and shyed away from telephones. Then again the only reason he knew it was her was from the tone and that she signed it. He didn't have her personal number. It was just a string of numbers on his ID.

'I have a feeling I should thank you for something as well as be angry with you, we shall talk later. - Respublika Belarus'

Formal even in text, had to be her. He sighs and drops his hands to the covers of his bed. He had some 'espalinin' to do. Then he rubs his face down with his hands and rolls over. He didn't even want to think about what Iceland and or Norway were going to do to him if Iceland figured it out.

That can wait until a little later, just a little later. It was hard to rummage around other people's heads. A nap was in order. Then he'd call the scientists. De brief. And come up with a plan on how to deal with the nations. Yep, that was his plan. He took a pillow and covered his face and slipped back into the great universal unconsciousness.

* * *

I wanted to drag this out, or go into a few dozen other nations minds but you just gotta end it sometime and I hope it was a fun ride for anyone brave enough to read it and I hope OP liked it. If they can even see this.


End file.
